


A Word in Private

by ninetiesnecklace



Category: Poldark (TV 2015), Poldark - All Media Types
Genre: Angry Sex, George is loud and needy, M/M, Manhandling, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Ross is mostly angry and horny, Rough Sex, Slight Power Play, Sorry Not Sorry, That just sort of happened
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-03
Updated: 2015-05-03
Packaged: 2018-03-28 20:02:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3868021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninetiesnecklace/pseuds/ninetiesnecklace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>George is fascinated by Ross – they don’t always see eye to eye but there’s something about that man which makes him… interested.<br/>Ross is irritated by George on so many levels – his schemes, his constant seeking him out and most of all his insistence that they are alike.</p><p>This is what happens when they meet at a party and rile each other up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Word in Private

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so I feel like I should explain that... Let's just say George has been less than subtle about his attraction to Ross throughout the whole season (don't tell me you didn't see it - the way he constantly creeps up on him and uses colourful language, thinly veiling his actual intention?) and this just sort of happened. I know Ross is mostly disgusted with him BUT given the right circumstances all that tension must go somewhere. It's pwp so consider Demelza as not having appeared yet.
> 
> I don't even ship George and Ross, it's just... well, if you can see their potential for angry sex read for yourself.

The party in the Warleggan’s house went splendidly. A continuous rush of ladies in colourful dresses strolled through the house, followed by gentlemen in well-cut suits. George Warleggan stood at the edge of the dance floor and observed the elegant couples dancing to the charming tunes of the band he had specially hired for the occasion. He took a sip of his wine as his eyes glanced over the dancers but soon strayed up to the galleries and the crowded ground floor. He still wasn’t there. Or George had missed Ross’ arrival in the moments he had talked to other shareholders and exchanged pleasantries. Well, the evening was young enough and Ross had sent word that he would attend.

 _He is a man of his word_ , George reminded himself as another gaze turned up without result. Maybe it was his time in America that had corrupted him to arrive fashionably late. Whatever the reason, though, George could not stand here and simply wait. He was the host, after all, and as such it was the height of bad manners to not participate in his own party.

He had danced with a few ladies and conversed with his business partners for a while when he saw a shock of black curls among the crowd coming from the card room. A smile tugged on the corner of George’s lips. All his efforts had paid off, then. Not that he would admit it to anyone but some of the decisions he had made concerning drinks and entertainment had been with Ross’ taste in mind. Their professional relationship had suffered as of late and George was keen to regain Ross’ favour, professionally and personally. That man was fascinating, unique in his opinions and unparalleled in fierceness.

George carefully watched Ross. He was well-dressed all in black save for a white kerchief around his neck which accentuated his black hair and dark looks. His shoulders showed the strength of a man in the bloom of his years, a man used to hard work but luckily he lacked the brutish features so many of the common folk were cursed with. _Best of both worlds._

When Ross’ conversation partners excused themselves George used the opportunity and moved closer.

“Ross, how delightful to see you at my humble party.”

“The pleasure is mine,” Ross replied courtly but cold in tone. Only now did George see that he must have been at his house a while – either that or he had arrived in a state of inebriation. His kerchief was slightly undone and his hair was wilder than usual.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” George asked and offered a smile, “If anything is amiss do not hesitate to let me know. I am sure I can cater to your every need.”

George could hardly think of a wish he would deny Ross if he asked. Business was of course a difficult matter as always but that certainly wasn’t all a man had on his mind.

“I can’t think of a better way to spend an evening than drinking as much as I physically can from my adversary’s well-stocked bar.” Ross lifted the glass in his right hand as if to illustrate his point and took a mouthful.

George frowned slightly. He hadn’t anticipated a statement as blunt right away but drink had taken what little manners Ross had, as it seemed. Still, George tried to keep the conversation on a civil level.

“I am glad my whiskey agrees with you. But I would hate to think of you and me as adversaries.”

“And which term would you prefer?” Ross asked, jerkin his chin slightly forward.

George tilted his head as to indicate his search for a proper term while he tried not to be too distracted by Ross’ gesture of utter self-assurance. There were a few words to describe what he _wanted_ Ross to be to him but that was not the question.

“Colleagues, I suppose… even friends.”

This drew a humourless chuckle from Ross as he downed the rest of his drink and placed the empty glass on a nearby table. Then, he looked at George intensely. “We are neither.”

Only Ross Poldark could utter those words without offending George but rather spurring him on to prove the opposite.

“You do not even consider us colleagues?” George inquired.

“How could I?” Ross shook his head, “We are not in the same business to begin with.”

“We are both living on the benefits of mining.”

“No, we are not. You live on exploiting the miners, taking their every last bit and swallowing up any competition. This is not the business I am in and I refuse to be taken for a colleague by you. Or a friend, for that matter.”

Ross’ voice had become more determined with every word he uttered, authority and conviction making him appear louder than he was. Still, some of the ladies and gentleman turned to watch them.

“Ross…” George said and attempted to keep his voice down, “A word in private.”

 

* * * * * * *

 

Ross pressed his lips together and nodded shortly. If George wanted to discuss this properly it was just as well that no one was immediately watching. Not that it mattered to Ross – his respect for dressed up society was low as it was but he was still a guest in this house. With large steps he followed George, leaving the music and murmur behind.

They walked into an unoccupied room, covered in portraits of the Warleggan family and where no frame clung to the walls a rich wallpaper shone through. A somewhat large desk stood in the middle of the room – it must be George’s study, judging by the ink bottles and stacks of documents occupying the table. An expensive looking globe stood on the side of the desk, pressing down the fabric of the luxurious carpet.

 _Even more splendour than in the card room_ , Ross thought with disgust and it surely showed on his face. Drink made it harder for him to play according to the charade so-called ‘polite society’ insisted on.

“Ross…” George began, filling another glass of whiskey and handing it to him, “I think we got off on the wrong foot tonight.”

“Is that so?”

“Would I stand up for you in polite society if I weren’t your friend, Ross? Would I invite you to social events like this one? I think you are underestimating my hospitality.”

Ross took a large sip of whiskey to keep himself from answering too harshly right away. In a way, George was right. Other people would long since have stopped sending out invitations but that was no reason for George to call him a friend.

“I did not ask to be invited nor do I need you to talk of me to the rest of those greedy and reckless businessmen.”

“Do you consider me to be one of them, then?”

He threw George a heated glance at this coy attempt of gaining his approval. He had tried to keep his feeling of self-loathing to himself, somehow, but the more George talked in his irritating and aloof tone the more Ross’ mood turned over to anger. Anger at George and his schemes, anger at the way he constantly sought him out to exchange meaningless pleasantries… it was clear that they were entirely different in character so why did George insist?

“Yes,” Ross said slowly and closed in on George so that the banker was but a step away from the table and Ross could make out every single one of his long eyelashes, “as a matter of fact, I do.”

George’s pupils grew wider as Ross reached around him to put the whiskey glass on the table. The dull sound was the only noise in the room and soon joined the meaningless prattle that went on behind the closed door. Ross did not move back but remained standing close to George, part of him relishing the tension he put the other man under.

George breathed shallower now. _Almost as if he wanted to withdraw further._ But there was nowhere to go for him, trapped between Ross and the table.

 _“_ I believe you are mistaken in your assessment of me, Ross,” he said in a breathy voice.

“Am I? You have given me no reason to arrive at another conclusion.” Ross clenched his jaw as he stared at George provokingly.

Before Ross had a chance to understand what was happening George suddenly moved and pressed a soft, lingering kiss on his lips. Ross froze for the moment it took his mind to catch up and his senses went into action with a start. He felt the smooth texture of George’s lips, the warmth they radiated and the tiniest hint of a nip at his lower lip. His pulse gave a jump, followed by a hard beating heart against his ribcage as George moved back slowly.

 _What in God’s name was that?_ Ross narrowed his eyes, looking at the man in front of him but failing to read his expression – or understanding his own, for that matter. George stood perfectly still and held his ground, not phased by the strange proximity they had yet to break.

“What are you doing?” Ross finally asked with a calm he did not sense.

The faint feeling of the kiss still pulsated on his lips and he did not know whether to be disgusted or confused when anger decided for him.

“Do you think you can buy my favour by assaulting me like that?” Ross added sharply but remained standing where he was. Whatever that sly bastard’s game was he would not back down just like that.

“It was not meant as an assault.”

“It damn well felt like one,” Ross shot back and only noticed too late that he had slipped into indecent language. At this point, though, he didn’t care enough to apologise – especially given that this was a far cry from a decent situation. George was standing too close to him when Ross remembered that he had trapped the man to begin with. Nervously, he licked his lips and tried for a deep breath to calm his heartbeat while George still looked at him with that infuriating fine smile.

“I am merely convincing you that I am on your side,” George’s voice was but a murmur that drew Ross in, “I am your humble servant and not your enemy.”

“My humble servant?” Ross repeated, trying out how his voice carried that concept. The very idea ignited something low in his stomach.

George Warleggan as his inferior. If the kiss and George’s constant attention on him were anything to go by Ross had quite the idea what he was offering. _This is ridiculous. He is a vile creature_ , he thought and tried to shake the idea that was well on its way to stick in his mind. Ross looked past George and scoffed but the sound was only half-convincing in his own ears.

When he faced the other man again, Ross leaned forward and placed his hands on the table on either side of George. He didn’t flinch as Ross brought their faces close together.

“I cannot see you being humble _or_ a servant, George,” he stated, something akin to disgust and doubt in his deep voice.

“For them… no,” George said in that whisper that irritated Ross on so many levels, “They are business men as you rightly say. But for you… Serving you would be my pleasure.”

This time, Ross nearly anticipated the kiss. Yet he didn’t move back, irrationally, angry at George and appalled by this transgression, oddly curious whether he actually followed up on his first incentive… and undeniably aroused. Against his will Ross felt the beginnings of an erection as all those contradicting emotions joined forces with the tense proximity when George’s lips met his once more. His kiss was a little more forceful than before but still with a strange softness that only encouraged his arousal. It wasn’t right to begin with, George caressing his lips like that, but what made Ross even more irritated, nearly angry, was that George called the shots.

With a start Ross snapped out of his stupor and returned the kiss. Not carefully and lingering like George had but demanding. He almost attacked George’s mouth, his right fist grabbing the cotton hair while his tongue pushed against the other man’s lips. Not a second of resistance and George willingly opened his mouth, welcoming his tongue with a quiet moan as his hands grabbed Ross’ sides.

Ross had come here for a fight and indeed his anger wasn’t gone – the fact that George so openly bowed to him only made him madder while at the same time the idea bloomed in all of its arousing quality. The banker who had opposed him so often offered to be at his every service, the twirl of his tongue eager to convince Ross.

“For all your desire for power you surrender to me,” Ross all but hissed, tugging on his hair harder.

George nodded with parted lips and slightly out of breath. “Yes… to you only, Ross.”

Those whispered words defeated the last of Ross’ resistance. He let go of George’s hair and placed his hands on his chest, grabbed him by the collar of his coat with both hands and pulled him into another bruising kiss. Thumbing over the clean-shaven jaw line that felt so smooth under his callous fingers Ross caught George’s lower lip and bit down; not enough to draw blood but hard, making George gasp into his mouth. The slim body rubbed against Ross’ broader statue and even through the many layers of clothing he could feel the heat George gave off. _Your humble servant_.

“Strip,” Ross commanded, his voice coming from deep within his throat in a dark rumble at the anticipation of George carrying out his demand.

The other man lost no time in shrugging off the coat, impatiently freeing his arms in the limited space Ross gave him. Their bodies were still pressed closely against each other and Ross was half hard, every move of George against his body arousing him further. George’s eyes grew wider and somehow darker with lust as Ross pushed him against the table for good. The formerly so elegant banker looked dishevelled: his hair in disarray from Ross’ grip, his powdered alabaster skin had acquired a light blush, and his lip was of a bright red from where he had bit him. The sight drew a low sound from Ross’ throat as George’s fingers flew to his own waistcoat to undo the buttons and follow the order with fervour. Ross leaned forward and kissed his throat, relishing the slight whimper coming from George as he sucked lightly. With one hand Ross steadied himself on the polished table while the other palmed George’s clear erection through his breeches.

“Ross…” George panted and responded directly, hips jerking forward to press against his hand. Ross ran his fingers along the other’s cock and sucked harder at the side of his throat, determined to leave a mark.

George’s white shirt opened almost to his belly button with the waistcoat gone and instead of disposing of it too he bucked harder against Ross’ hand. His hectic pulse beat under Ross’ lips. _The things you want me to do to you_ … Those soft hands that hadn’t seen an honest day’s work clutched at Ross’ waistcoat, attempting to pull him closer and wandering upwards to grasp his neck. Before George could wind the curls around his fingers, Ross withdrew his teasing hand and mouth, grabbing both his wrists roughly. Oh no, George was not in charge here – one heated look from Ross conveyed as much. George cast down his eyes for a second and Ross bent his arms to the side, the soft palms touching the table while Ross’ hands still held his wrists in a tight grip. Another rough kiss and George leaned back on his hands, almost sprawled over the table, spreading his legs to make more room for him. _How obedient, how willing_. Ross took the hint and closed the last bit of distance between them, their erections meeting through two layers of clothing. He groaned and grabbed George’s wrists tighter as he placed wet and greedy kisses on his chin, his throat and moved along the pale skin of his chest. To his surprise George was well-built; not overly strong but muscular all the same. The skin, however, was smooth to the point of softness, carefully powdered and taken care of, leaving the faint taste of something flowery in Ross’ mouth. He followed the shirt’s neckline, leading him directly to George’s nipple. As he ran his tongue over it and sucked, George’s back arched to meet his mouth and strained against Ross’ grip.

“Ross,” he groaned and rubbed his erection against him. This utterly inappropriate position in which George so shamelessly relished aroused Ross all the more. The string of sinful sounds falling from the other man’s lips washed hotly through him. George could barely keep from moaning with every move of Ross’ body and cried out when he scraped his teeth over the hard nipple.

Ross’ right hand let go of his wrist and undid the breeches with a few rough yanks, pulling the fabric down far enough to free George’s cock. He was rock hard, pre-come glinting on the head as Ross wrapped his hands around the hot length. A slick swipe of his thumb and he smeared the fluid around the tip. George’s arms quivered, his head fell back and he groaned loudly. Ross’ lips were back on his throat, feeling the sound vibrate through him, the sounds he drew from George oh so easily.

“Your hands… Ross… your mouth,” George gasped, reached out with his freed left and knocked over Ross’ empty whiskey glass which landed on the plush carpet with a dull sound.

He thrust in Ross’ hands with little moans, offering his torso and pulling the shirt open wide. The brunet didn’t hesitate to take this offer and moved along his skin, licking and sucking the slim frame. George’s chest was heaving, sweat making him taste salty under the perfumed flavour. Ross dragged his teeth over the skin, muffling his groan as George, one hand unrestrained, finally tugged at his hair.

George pushed his hips in time with Ross’ movements, the hard cock sliding through the tight circle of his fingers. The grip on Ross’ hair disappeared as George’s free hand let go of the dark curls and clawed at the desk’s drawer. He pulled it open with some difficulty, blindly rummaging around as Ross’ lips left his body. George’s cheeks were red, his mouth never stopping to produce sounds of pleasure and he blinked at Ross nearly dazed when he finally found what he had been searching for. A change of pace and a flick of his wrist drew another throaty moan from George. Writhing against Ross’ hand he pressed a vile of oil against the other’s clothed chest.

“Ross…” he slurred, “Please, don’t make me come just yet, please… I want to feel all of you.”

Ross’ left let go of George’s wrist and took the vile from him while slowing down the movements on his cock. George choked back a gasp, leaned forward to keep his weight off his hand, and grabbed Ross by his breeches. Involuntarily, Ross bucked into the touch, his neglected erection throbbing and desperate for attention.

“No,” he gasped. This was not about George touching him, not about pleasuring each other but about control. And Ross was determined to retain it. He slipped the bottle into the pocket of his coat and grabbed George roughly. At the sudden loss of friction George gave a frustrated sound but before he could utter another thing Ross had spun him around and bent him over the table, sending a few papers flying. Two firm tugs and George’s shirt was gone for good, carelessly thrown over the fallen whiskey glass on the ground. Ross pulled down George’s breeches entirely and ran his hand over the firm arse. He propped himself up on his arms but Ross pressed his left between George’s shoulder blades to keep him down. George obediently followed, the muscles in his back moving smoothly under the skin. Ross hastily pulled down his own trousers just far enough to free his cock – his arousal was on the verge of becoming painful at the sight of George sprawled out in front of him.

“I have waited for this so long…” George said between heavy breaths and spread his legs as wide as possible with the breeches restraining him.

“How long?” Ross asked, voice but a gravelly sound. He took the oil from his pocket, poured it into his hand and finally, _finally_ touched himself. The slick oil on his hot skin felt so good and he bit back a moan as he stroked himself a few times to take the edge off. Then, he coated his fingers with the rest of the oil and leaned over George, placing biting kisses on the taut muscles in his back.

“Weeks…” George drawled, “Months…”

The notion made Ross growl against the sweaty skin. _That sly bastard_ … Ross’ hand slid between George’s butt cheeks and rubbed against his entrance while his other grabbed his side. George’s hips gave a jerk and he gasped as Ross pushed one finger into him.

“Ross!” he whimpered.

Ross bit his shoulder and pressed him down while moving his finger in quickening thrusts. George’s body adjusted to him surprisingly fast which sparked all kinds of notions in Ross’ mind.

“Do you think of me when you pleasure yourself?”

George’s “Yes…” ended in a throaty groan as Ross pushed a second finger into him. He rocked back onto Ross’ hand as well as he could. Oil was dribbling down Ross’ wrist as he fingered him open, keeping his movements just short of in tune with George’s. The banker whimpered at this cruel withholding.

“You’re so loud…” Ross whispered hotly into the other man’s ear, licking along the shell of it. He took him apart one by one and George’s soft hair was slick with sweat, sticking to his neck – another detail that made Ross enjoy this all the more.

“I can’t…” George rasped, grasping the edges of the table, “Please, Ross…”

Hearing George beg for it, for him, Ross withdrew his fingers and grabbed the other’s hips, hard enough to leave marks. With one strong thrust Ross pushed into him and couldn’t help but groan deeply at the feeling of George around him. What came out of George’s throat, however, muted all of his sounds – the banker cried out under him, a noise beyond pain or pleasure but only filled with need.

“Shh…” Ross murmured throatily and didn’t know exactly know whether he meant George or himself as he started to thrust into him. George was tight, and hot, and so damn loud that Ross could hardly keep from joining in with his needy sounds. He slammed his hips forward and thrust hard into the willing body, unable to slow down even if he wanted. His trousers slid down over his arse but the fact that he was almost fully clothed and George entirely naked only aroused Ross more.

He changed the angle slightly with every thrust, his cock filling the banker so nicely, and finally hit his prostate. George cried out loudly from deep within his throat, grabbing the sides of the table so hard his knuckles turned white.

Ross was gasping now, his body covered in sweat and wetting the shirt that clung to his back under the waistcoat. The touch of his oil-stained fingers had made George’s shoulders shiny as they moved under the onslaught of his body, the muscles twitching. Ross ran his hand along the other’s shoulder blade and grabbed his hair while he put his left over George’s hand at the table’s side.

A particularly hard thrust made George move up the table, his right losing grip and knocking over an inkwell. On instinct, Ross reached out and dipped his fingers into the ink staining the documents and scratched down George’s smooth back in dark blue lines. Accompanied by a throaty moan George nearly arched off the table and Ross’ hand left blue stains when he held the other’s hips in place.

“Someone might hear you,” Ross hissed and slammed harder into George, hitting his prostate with every thrust. The room was filled with both their breathless moans and growls and even the thick carpet and the lush wallpaper couldn’t swallow the sounds coming from George’s constantly moving lips.

“Let them hear,” George managed to say – to groan, “You feel so good…”

Before he could say more, Ross’ right darted out and he placed his hand over George’s mouth. Surprised, George gasped against his palm, saliva mixing with the blurred ink as Ross continued to pound into him. He muffled his own sounds against George’s shoulder, pressing his lips onto the oil-slick skin where the ink hadn’t made a mess. Keeping the rough pace he could feel his orgasm approaching, and judging from George quivering under him he couldn’t be too far away either. His body heat almost burned through Ross’ clothes and his thrusts became messier but no less hard. George shivered, opened his mouth under Ross’ hand and at the next hit on his prostate he spilled over the table in thick spurts. The scream from his throat was muted by Ross’ hand but nowhere near quiet. Ross thrust into the trembling body once more and followed, coming into George hard. He growled and rode out his orgasm in George’s tight heat, still pressing his hand on the other man’s mouth. Out of breath and suddenly weak in his legs Ross placed his weight against George, gasping for air and breathing against his neck. His damp hair tickled Ross’ cheek and the flowery scent was gone for good – all that remained was the heady smell of sex and sweat. George whimpered against his hand and let go of the table, turning his neck as Ross licked and dragged his teeth over it.

When his breath had calmed Ross took his hand from George’s mouth and propped himself up on his arms as he slid out of him. The brunet scrambled to his feet when he saw which mess he had made of George’s back. Blue ink was spread all over his skin and under it the red trail of Ross’ nails was still visible. George’s chest was heaving as he too moved to stand up.

Ross turned away from him and the utterly ruined documents on the desk, putting a few steps between him and George. His pulse slowed down and through his haze Ross began to realise what they had just done. What he had done under the watchful eyes of the Warleggan’s family portraits.

In his back he heard George shuffling. Ross’ fingers found the knot of his kerchief and pulled it from his collar, wiping the sweat off his face and the ink and oil off his hands before cleaning himself up scantily. His clothes were somewhat in disarray and sweaty but at least neither ink nor cum had left visible stains on the dark fabric. If he was lucky the generous amount of alcohol at this party had made its way to the guests’ heads already and he could excuse himself without anyone noticing his… state. He put the dirty kerchief into his pockets and smoothed down his coat. Then, after a determined breath, he turned to George.

The banker was dressed in his breeches and just buttoned up his shirt with shaking fingers, his dishevelled hair falling into his eyes. Like Ross he had used his kerchief for unintended purposes so that his throat lay bare – darker patches began to bloom on the otherwise pale skin from where Ross had marked him.

“I will not tell anyone if that is what you fear,” George commented, his voice still rough and his eyes somewhat heavy-lidded, as he noticed Ross’ gaze.

“I do not fear it,” Ross answered with a frown. “I doubt you pride yourself in what happened.”

He stared at George who shed the traces of their… intimate encounter with every move of his hands as he brought his appearance in order. He looked wrecked for now but not long and the nippy business man would be back in place as if he hadn’t cried out under Ross just moments before.

George picked up his waistcoat from the ground and put it on, throwing Ross a quizzical look. “Do you?”

Here it was again, this irritating quality so inherent to George. But this time his question was justified, if uncalled for. No, Ross didn’t feel pride. But neither did he feel shame. What had happened was not exactly easy to grasp but Ross preferred to think about it – if at all – in solitude. And after a decent bath.

“Your mouth is still stained in ink.”

With that, Ross turned on his heels and strode through the door, vanishing among the colourful and unaware crowd.

**Author's Note:**

> Well... thanks for reading!


End file.
